Last year, I managed 6 updates to this particular story. I'm not what one would call proud of that. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm proud of the chapters themselves, and I still believe that this story is my best work — or, at least, it's my personal favorite — but a chapter every 2 months just doesn't sit right with me.
I think 2017 is gonna have to pick up the pace, on this and a bunch of other projects.
But for now, I suppose, every journey starts with a first step.
1.
She's sent him a card, every major holiday, ever since he left. Each card always has the same message, writ in her implacable, celestial handwriting.
Pegasus is staring listlessly at the latest one—adorned with an Autumnal landscape of his own design, because she has a strange sense of humor—when Seto opens the front passenger-side door.
They're outside Oakwood Elementary School, halfway into November, and Seto has slowly, but still awkwardly, gotten used to a ride home. He's spent the past few years, ever since his brother was born, walking home every day of every school week. The only thing that's changed is the destination. It's taken him a long time to stop thanking Pegasus two to six times every time he climbs into the Town Car.
This afternoon, Seto doesn't offer up a platitude, but a question: "What's that?"
Before Pegasus can even start working out the implications of answering this seemingly innocent question, he's already answered: "A holiday card." This surprises him so much that he doesn't react, even when he adds: "From my mother."
Aside from vague pleasantries and generalities, Pegasus has never spoken to either of his boys about the progenitors of his name and station. Pegasus hasn't even seen his parents in so long that it takes him far longer than it should to remember their faces, their voices, even what their house—the home where he grew up—looks like.
It's only been two years. It's only been—
a lifetime
—twenty-four months.
Since . . .
"Your mother's a—" Seto stops himself, almost chokes on his own tongue. "She . . . s-sends you . . . cards?"
He thought she was dead, Pegasus realizes suddenly. He thought I was like him. And since I never said otherwise . . . but, of course. He's only eleven. His world still only makes sense through his own prism. Everyone is an orphan unless otherwise stated.
This thought is so much sadder than Pegasus initially thought it would be.
"She does," Pegasus eventually forces himself to say. "I don't see them very often. My parents." He feels guilty all of a sudden, like he's admitting some kind of drug habit. "My mother sends me cards so that I . . . remember I have a home to come back to." He sighs. Chokes back the anger rising up in his throat like bile. Reminds himself that Seto has enough burdens to bear. His new guardian's grievances should not become part of them.
Pegasus hands over his prize, because there's no point in keeping it from the poor boy. Seto Yagami is so starved for anything resembling a family that he's already attached to his new grandmother, even though she isn't his grandmother yet.
Seto holds the card reverently. Opens it.
He reads, softly: "If every person were like me, what kind of world would this be?"
Pegasus finds a smile. "Mother dearest's personal creed."
He steals a glance and finds Seto's face to be a goldmine of emotions. Most of them, Pegasus is sure, are conflicted. But ultimately, Seto seems touched. Impressed. Not awestruck, exactly, but something in the general vicinity of awe, just the same. Seto has, for the most part, sworn off adults entirely. He doesn't trust them.
And who can blame him?
But it would seem that Toiréasa Crawford has passed some quiet test already, just with a few lines of script she picked up at a church somewhere.
Pegasus draws in a breath. He's already jumped this far in. He may as well start swimming. So, as he pulls away from the curb and heads for the Domino Children's Home, he says: "These cards are a quiet invitation to . . . catch up. To come back home."
Seto's entire being goes stone-still.
Given that he can only honestly "see" out of his right eye anymore, Pegasus has gotten used to studying his peripheral vision with an almost manic intensity. He can see, even as he keeps his attention on the road, the request hanging on this little orphan's lips.
The smile slips from Pegasus's face, then comes back.
"Is she . . . are your . . . parents . . . having a holiday dinner?"
It isn't long until Thanksgiving. One of the more . . . awkward traditions in the Crawford family. But Pegasus supposes that his personal distaste for his extended family doesn't have a place here. Not right now. Not while Seto is still so vulnerable.
This is, Pegasus thinks, knowing he's being entirely too dramatic about it, what it means to be a father.
"Yes," he says. "Yes, I'm certain that they are." He pauses for a moment, waits for a traffic light as an excuse to steal a glance, and adds: "If I were to accept my dear matron's invitation, would you care to join me?"
Seto eeps. It's a quiet little sound, barely more than a sharp intake of breath, but it's enough.
Pegasus is already ticking off the innumerable things he's going to have to do, say, admit, to his parents in order to make this work, as he switches his soft little smile to a full grin and says: "I'll take that as a yes. I wonder. Do you think Mokuba will accept, too? Oh, but I'm sure he has a previous engagement, already."
Seto smirks. "Yeah. I bet he does. Maybe I can convince Mokie to move his schedule around."
"You'd do that for me?" Pegasus turns his attention back to the road. "Such a generous offer. Well! It looks like I have a phone call to make."
"Do you think . . . do you think they'll . . . mind?"
"Hm?" Truthfully, he's already wondering just how large a fit his lord father is going to throw over this. "Oh, don't you worry about that. No, no, no. This is a family affair! That means the family is invited." Pause, either for dramatic effect or for Pegasus to convince himself that he believes the words coming out of his mouth right now.
He isn't sure if he's succeeding on either count.
"The whole family," he says, with much more conviction than he feels.
2.
". . . Pegasus?"
He very nearly slams the phone back onto its cradle. He very nearly lets himself admit defeat. He isn't ready for this. He can't face this. He can't face her. He can't. He just can't. There's no way, and he was a fool to think he could . . .
He remembers.
Those big blue eyes. Searching, hoping, aching. Who is he, to let something as trivial as fear stand in the way of his son's heart? To let something as selfish as anger, as pointless as grief, condemn his son to disappointment? Certainly, Seto isn't his yet, but that's nothing but semantics. Mokuba isn't his yet, but that's nothing but a technicality. He owes it to his boys, to those poor children who've somehow managed to remind him what it feels like to feel.
None of what Pegasus is straining to choke back right now has any relevance anymore.
He reaches into an inside pocket of his coat, fishes out the card Seto held so desperately earlier in the day, and draws in a deep breath. It doesn't settle his nerves—if anything, it makes everything worse—but he does it anyway. All part of the ritual. He conjures an image of his boys with the eye that isn't gliding over the card.
"Maime," says Pegasus, the familiar word feeling unfamiliar on his tongue.
"It's . . . it's good to hear from you."
He supposes, if not for the practice afforded him by that old golden eye, he wouldn't have noticed the emotion in Toiréasa Crawford's voice. He might have thought she was being flippant. Saying what was only proper to say. But he knows better now. He can hear better now.
He can feel better now.
"There's no use pretending that this is . . . normal," he says, slowly, with none of his usual swaggering confidence. "I don't have excuses. I don't have explanations." He stops. Forces himself to breathe. "I . . . I have them. But I don't think they mean much, in the grand scheme of things."
There's a pause, as the moment breathes with him.
"When, in all its history, has our family ever been normal?"
The smile that slides onto Pegasus's face summons a burning sensation behind his eye. "I've missed your voice," is all he can make himself whisper.
He can feel her smile, too. "How are you, darling?"
". . . All things considered . . . better than I should be."
It's as close to honest as he can think to be. It wouldn't surprise him if she senses this, because she doesn't comment on it. Between herself and her most eminent husband, Toiréasa Crawford has ever been the more diplomatic and accommodating. Pegasus doesn't want to admit to himself that he's only carrying on this conversation because she answered the phone.
That he would have failed to put even the first words together if it had been his voice first.
The conversation continues, just as awkwardly, just as haltingly, for several minutes. He realizes partway through that his mother's voice is as soothing as it's ever been, that her words are a lullaby, and eventually he has something resembling his confidence again. It's a joke compared to the façade he puts on in public, but it will serve.
Before he realizes it, his smile is honest, and he doesn't want to cry anymore.
Not long after that, he wants to cry again.
". . . are already asking your father when they can expect new games based on your cards. It irritates him, to say the least. But you know, I think he's proud. You've certainly been busy."
"You . . . don't know the half of it."
"Is that why you called? You still haven't said what you need to say. Have you?"
"No. I haven't." Pegasus breathes deep again. Searches the little card for answers again. Wonders if he has any idea what he's doing with his life again. "This is going to seem insane. I've been lectured more times than I care to acknowledge by nearly everyone working here. I know I don't have the right to ask this. But . . . I'm going to ask, anyway: trust me."
". . . Of course, Pegasus."
"A while back, I took a trip to Domino City."
3.
Seto has never seen a pastry like the one presented to him as he settles himself on Pegasus's couch. It's thick, heavier than it looks like it should be, and there's crumbled bacon on top—the pastry, not the couch. Seto is mildly confused by this culinary creature, but he remembers to smile at the woman who hands it to him; she smiles back. "Thank you," he murmurs.
"You're quite welcome, little master."
Identical treats are handed out to Mokuba and Kristine. Coffee and tea come next, and eventually Pegasus comes sauntering into the room in a full tuxedo. He looks like a Victorian lord, except he isn't wearing a top hat.
"A thousand pardons." The master of the manor bows deeply and takes a seat. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting." Pegasus offers a winning smile to Kristine. "I know it's not exactly proper, but I hoped perhaps I could . . . impress on you how important I think it will be."
"Where, if I may ask, do your parents live?" Kristine asks.
"The house where I grew up is in Clark County," Pegasus replies smoothly, "in Nevada. But Maime—er, that is, my mother." He clears his throat, and Seto swears he can spy a touch of red coloring the man's cheeks. "She's said she would like to have dinner here." Pegasus gestures around himself.
"I see." Kristine frowns thoughtfully, and rubs at her chin. "Well, that . . . certainly simplifies things. You understand, I'm sure, that we can't just allow you to take them wherever you like. Until everything's been finalized, we're still responsible for them."
"Of course." Pegasus smiles again. "I wouldn't want to make things too difficult for you. Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but . . . given how much we've progressed so far, wouldn't it be valuable for us to facilitate things? I should think that a holiday dinner with family . . . well. No. I'm sorry. That's taking it too far, isn't it?"
The slightest of smiles crosses Kristine's lips.
Seto takes a tentative bite of his pastry. It's sweet, but not overbearing. It's like a biscuit, but there's frosting. Some kind of syrupy . . . stuff. He licks at his lips, wondering if he likes this thing or not.
"That, my boy," Pegasus puts in, suddenly diverting his attention, "is a maple bacon scone. Because I am, in fact, completely insufferable." He laughs, as Mokuba chomps down on his own scone and tears off nearly half of it. The younger Yagami hums to himself and does a little dance as he chews.
"Dinner with family," Seto muses to himself.
"Fam'bly!" Mokuba declares, and gestures dramatically with his breakfast like it's some kind of baton.
"Mokie. Don't play with your food."
Mokuba pouts, just for a moment, before he happily returns to the involved process of devouring.
Seto ends up drowning out a fair amount of Pegasus's conversation with Kristine, because it's mostly bureaucratic nonsense about whether or not it's okay for him and Mokuba to leave the county again. It mostly has to do with whether or not Pegasus says the right things to assuage Kristine's concerns, and Seto has gained a quiet confidence in his new guardian's ability to sweet-talk basically anyone.
He's young, but he's sharp, and quick. People have said the same thing about Seto himself. But unlike Seto, Pegasus has perfected the art of using his smile as a weapon.
True to his charge's faith in him, Pegasus quickly brings about an end to the conversation with a bright and chipper: "Excellent! This is wonderful! I'm so pleased we could come to an agreement." He reaches over and shakes Kristine's hand.
"Um," Seto holds up a hand, like he's in school, "Mokie needs to wash his face." Mokuba grins, his cheeks blotted with frosting, which makes Pegasus laugh again.
"If I may," Pegasus says, gesturing grandly to Kristine. She nods. "Come along, you two." He ruffles Mokuba's hair as he hops down off the couch. He holds out a hand, which Mokuba takes immediately. "Let's get you presentable."
Seto follows along, licking at his fingers, looking around at his surroundings. The house is big, tall and broad and grander than any building Seto has ever seen. The carpets are lush and richly colored. There's artwork all around: classical landscapes and portraits interspersed equally with animation cels and what looks like Duel Monsters drawings sent in by fans.
Each piece, whether painstakingly painted or scrawled with crayon, has been framed and placed with care.
Seto smiles, but it falters quickly.
"Um . . . Mister Crawford?" Pegasus makes an inquisitive sound in his throat. "Now that, um . . . everything's in order? I guess. We're definitely having Thanksgiving Dinner with your parents."
"That's right." Pegasus glances over his shoulder and winks. "This will be the first time I'll actually be able to make use of my dining hall. It's . . . kind of wasteful, don't you think, to eat alone in a place called a hall?"
"Heh. Yeah. But . . . well, I mean . . . do you think . . . ? What should I . . . ? I mean. Mokie and I don't . . . we don't have any . . ."
Seto feels his face go furiously hot, and he glares angrily down at the carpet, as if it's insulted him somehow. He specifically avoids looking at his old, battered sneakers. Mokuba stops walking, lets go of Pegasus's hand, and shuffles over to his brother. "Nii'tama," he says sagely, patting at Seto's arm. "Good boy."
Seto chuckles in spite of himself, and gives Mokuba a little hug.
As is his wont when talking seriously with Seto, Pegasus hunkers down and sits on his heels so they can look each other in the face. "Seto," he says, gently, and Seto looks up. "Would you like a new outfit to wear to dinner? Shall we spruce you boys up in your Sunday Best?"
Seto blushes again, but manages to nod.
Pegasus's beaming grin always makes him look even younger than he is.
"Well, all right, then."